Beneath the moonlit arches of Crepusculem, where magic had thrived like a living symphony, a heavy gloom thick as fog smothered the ancient grounds. The sanctum grounds felt drained of life, shrouded in a pall of grief. The sacred grounds were rather cold and humid this afternoon—mist clinging to the earth, wrapping the stones in a veil that whispered of loss and secrets waiting to be uncovered.

The air no longer carried the sweet scent of lavender and other enchanted fragrances. It carried a smoky scent, like the remnants of something beautiful turned to ash.

In the heart of the courtyard, a solemn crowd gathered around a towering pyre. The body of Head Mage Shinatzai Zen lay atop it, swathed in ceremonial robes, every inch of skin hidden.

The mourners, dressed in sombre white robes and trailing black cloaks, moved with the slow, measured steps of those bearing a heavy burden. Children, pupils of the late mage, huddled at the edges of the gathering, their wide eyes filled with confusion and disbelief.

His death had been a violent one, and even now, the memory of his disfigured corpse—discovered three days ago in a pool of his own blood—cast a shadow over the proceedings. A group of young mages had found him in the Sun Tower during a routine practice, and the horror of that discovery still hung in the air, like a dark cloud no one could escape.

The grounds, usually filled with the hum of magic and the vibrant exchange of knowledge, were now eerily quiet. The only sound was the crackling of the pyre and the soft notes of a flute, playing a haunting melody that seemed to echo off the ancient stones.

Hannah stood at the head of the congregation, appearing to be calm as she ever had been, draped in her plain white robes—her hair unadorned for the first time in memory. The officials of Crepusculum, holding their ceremonial staff, stood like statues on either side of her, their faces grim.

From inside Hannah was anything but calm. Her thoughts raced one past another each making her little more anxious than the previous. Only two weeks ago, the heir of Romersai had vanished, threatening the fragile veil that separated their world from the normies. Now, Shinatzai Zen—one of the few who had been working to solve the mystery—was dead. She was left to bear the weight of Crepusculum's future alone. Her mind spinned with fear and doubt, though her face betrayed nothing.

"Milady, it's time," whispered Aric, the High Chronicler, his voice low and reverent.

Hannah nodded, her gaze steady as she took a deep breath, steeling herself. With a calm that belied the storm swirling within, she began the Final Tribute.

She stepped forward, her voice steady, "We gather today to honour Shinatzai Zen, not only as our Head Mage but as a mentor, a protector, and a pillar of our community. His wisdom guided us, his strength upheld us, and his magic lit the darkest paths. In life, he sought knowledge not for himself, but to lift us all. Now, as he joins the stars, his legacy remains—etched in our hearts and woven into the very magic that binds Crepusculum."

She paused, her gaze sweeping the gathered faces. "Though his light has dimmed in this realm, it will shine in the next, where his spirit will continue to guide us. Let us carry forward the lessons he taught and the magic he believed in. Farewell, Shinatzai Zen. May your journey be peaceful, and may we honour your memory with every spell we cast."

She bowed deeply to the pyre, and the attendees followed her lead in reverent silence. It was time for the final prayer, the sacred words to guide Shinatzai Zen's spirit beyond. As Hannah began to recite the ancient incantations, her voice steady and melodic, the flames of the pyre surged, leaping higher into the night. The fire's light flickered across the stone courtyard, casting long, wavering shadows over the gathered crowd, their faces illuminated by the glow.

The fire burned with an almost unnatural intensity, and as it consumed the body, an ethereal glow bathed the courtyard, painting the stone walls in eerie hues of gold and indigo. The air thickened with magic, the words of the prayer carrying through the stillness, as if the very flames were listening, preparing to carry the mage's soul to the next realm.

The crowd watched in silence as the flames continued their work, the crackle of burning wood the only sound. The body of the mage, once a pillar of their community, was now little more than smoke and ash, his essence rising in twisting tendrils toward the sky. There was no joy in the release, no sense of peace. Only the cold realization that Crepusculum, once a place of magic and light, was now steeped in sorrow and uncertainty.

The fire burned down to embers, and as the last of the smoke drifted into the night, the congregation bowed their heads in silence. The weight of what had been lost hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, it felt as though the world itself had paused, holding its breath in mourning.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Once done paying tribute to her fallen comrade, Hannah retreated to her study, locking the door behind her with a soft click. She sat by the window, her gaze fixed on the sky where the moon hunched behind thick clouds, casting a faint glow over the room. The soft light illuminated a peculiar object resting on her desk—a rose, meticulously crafted from steel. Its petals were sharp, each edge glinting in the moonlight. Hannah traced a finger carefully along the cold metal, wary of letting it slice her skin. The young mages had discovered this steel rose near Shinatzai Zen's lifeless body the night they found him.

At first glance, Hannah had recognised it immediately. But its sudden appearance, coupled with the head mage's mysterious death, left her uncertain. She hadn't seen one of these roses in over two decades—since the night Lady Merba, Ada and Auden's grandmother, had asked the Lord of Death to reap her soul early.

That night had been peaceful, unlike this one. Merba, aged and weary, had lived a full life, yet the loss of her daughter and son-in-law had broken her spirit. Their deaths in a battle with a dark entity had robbed Romersai of two of its brightest stars. Hannah hadn't mourned Merba's passing as deeply—she had understood the old mage's decision to seek release from her pain. When Death came for her, he left behind a steel rose. It was believed that the rose was dropped from his scythe as he reaped a soul early.

Now, sitting alone in her study, Hannah's fingers hovered over the new steel rose. There was only one explanation for its appearance, but it left her deeply unsettled. Shinatzai Zen wasn't the type to willingly embrace death. If anything, he had a fierce attachment to life—so much so that rumours of him seeking immortality through dark magic wouldn't have surprised her. But an early, voluntary reaping? That didn't fit.

Her heart twisted with unease. As far as she knew, Death was as cryptic as the other two—Birth and Fate. It wasn't likely they wandered in the human realm unless absolutely necessary.

She had once seen Lady Birth from afar, many decades ago when she was still a small girl. Never in her life had she seen the Lady of Fate, and none had seen the Lord of Death either. Or rather, even if they had seen him, no one could remember.

Hannah recalled learning something about Death being invisible and unmemorable, though she believed he had graced these sanctum grounds more than once.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied the steel rose once more. Something wasn't right. Death had been here—and reaped Zen's soul, too early, far too early. And that truth felt as sharp as the petals she dared not touch.

A gentle knock on her door pulled Hannah from the intricate web of thoughts swirling in her mind. A familiar, low, melodious voice sought permission to enter. Recognising the voice, Hannah responded with a snap of her fingers, unlocking the door for Sea to step inside.

Sea, like the late Shenatzai Zen, was half-born, a child of a full moon, though not of the true-blooded Romersai. She lacked the agility of Ada or Auden, and her mother's tarnished reputation had cast a long, dark shadow over her, more oppressive than any pillar in the sanctum grounds at night.

Bound by sanctions against enhancing torment magic, Sea was left under the command of the Crepusculem's servants—those whose dormant magic was deemed too weak to be acknowledged as true mages. Yet, both Hannah and Zen had recognized Sea's potential, a power simmering beneath the surface.

Zen had once proposed training Sea as a potential heir, a notion Hannah strongly opposed to prevent resentment among the innocent children. Yet, Sea's burgeoning magic was undeniable, earning her a place among Zen's apprentices to learn the basics.

"Milady, the Guardian Dispatch has returned from the Emerald Lier with the information provided by Dagasha," Sea reported. Her timid doe eyes, accentuated by her white robes, briefly met Hannah's gaze with a mixture of innocence and apprehension.

"Show them to my study," Hannah instructed, her voice steady and composed.

"Yes, milady," Sea replied, bowing gracefully before turning to leave. Her fingers grazed the polished brass handle of the door, but before she could exit, Hannah's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Sea..."

"Yes, milady?" Sea's doe eyes widened with concern as she turned to face the head mage.

"After you're done with your chores in the kitchen today, make sure to bid farewell to your friends there. You won't be returning to work tomorrow."

Sea's eyes grew even wider, her lips parting in a silent gasp. In the next instant, she dropped to her knees, wailing in a panic as she clasped her hands together in desperate pleading.

"Milady, milady, I'm so sorry! I didn't do it on purpose—" Sea whimpered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I didn't mean to raid his room. I was just missing my lord too much, and I thought it wouldn't hurt to just... go to my lord's room. I'll put the painting back. Please don't expel me! Please, milady, spare me! I truly didn't mean any harm..."

Hannah was stunned. She hadn't heard anything about a missing painting from Auden's room, or any raid that Sea might have been involved in. The unexpected confession left her momentarily speechless, and despite the gravity of the situation, a chuckle almost escaped her. She swallowed it down and cleared her throat, her expression softening.

"Rise, child," Hannah said gently, her tone reassuring. Sea's tear-filled eyes peeked up at her, and with trembling limbs, she rose to her feet, her head bowed low in shame.

"This isn't about the painting, Sea," Hannah continued, her voice warm but firm. "We are in need of an Heir. And I need a favour from you."

A/N:

A short chapter here, a shorter one there,
Keeps the writer from pulling out her hair.

Happy Reading! Love ya!